


Demonic Possession Style

by CreeperEyes



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Emetophilia, Gen, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-13 12:46:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14749136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreeperEyes/pseuds/CreeperEyes
Summary: Negan starts feeling sick while in Alexandria for one of his scheduled pick ups. When he gets back to the Savior's compound, he pukes in front of all his cohorts. He pukes A LOT. Enough that Simon thinks an exorcism is in order.Being sicker than shit, Negan is completely out of commission, and his fellow Saviors take care of him.Takes place during season 7 episode 7.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for several reasons. One, I've got a thing for attractive men throwing up, and I love sick fics. Negan is an attractive man, so naturally I had to torture him. I've noticed that 90% of the sick fics in this fandom have Daryl as the sick character, and I feel there needs to be more variety. 
> 
> Additionally, of the sick fics that do include puke, it seems that authors tend to shy away from any details. That's not the case here. Negan vomits pretty epically, and I go into far more detail than a typical author would. If that bothers you I suggest that you don't read this story, or just skip this chapter. 
> 
> Lastly, I haven't seen season 8 yet. I wrote this based on season 7 (though I made a few tweaks to canon here to make it a tad different) so I hope everyone is in character. If there are any out of character moments please let me know.

He’d felt a bit off all day, but it wasn’t until he disemboweled Spencer that Negan felt a sharp stabbing pain in his own gut. If that wasn’t ironic he didn’t know what was. Perhaps it was some sort of phantom sympathy pain, but then again the very idea of that was stupid. 

Just like Spencer.

Negan would be the first to admit he was a cocky bastard, but he absolutely couldn’t stand people like Spencer, overly privileged shits who skated through life using their good looks and daddy’s credit card to get whatever they wanted.  
Having to talk one one one with Spencer was bad enough, but once he’d expressed his wish to kill Rick and takeover as the new leader of Alexandria, Negan had officially had enough of him and offed him right there in the street.

While tormenting Rick was one of Negan’s favorite hobbies, he also harbored a fair amount of respect for the ex deputy. Rick Grimes was a natural leader, he organized people, and most importantly, he was a go getter. He got shit done, and Negan liked that. Plus, he liked Rick’s kids a lot. Carl was a badass, and baby Judith was the cutest damn thing he’d EVER seen. Earlier in the day, he’d spent a good half hour cradling Judith, bouncing her on his knee and being silly with her while Carl kept his one remaining eye intently trained on him.

But Spencer, that asshole, wanted to murder Rick and leave Carl and Judith without a father, and Negan simply wasn’t going to tolerate that bullshit.

He felt a twinge of nausea as he watched Spencer drop to his knees, holding his own intestines in his hands. It wasn’t the blood and guts that was bothering him. Living in a post apocalyptic world, nobody batted an eye at bloodshed anymore. Killing people was just a part of life now. 

No, this was something else. Before Spencer had approached him, Negan had made himself at home in Rick’s residence and cooked a massive amount of spaghetti for himself and his guests. Olivia hadn’t eaten a single bite, Carl had just picked at his and Rick didn’t even show up. Rude. Negan wasn’t the type to let food go to waste, especially not now, so he’d eaten almost the entire pot himself. He ate all of the rolls too, and washed it down with a couple glasses of lemonade. He’d probably just eaten too much.

More abrupt, intense pains almost made him wince, but he brushed them off. Instead, he stood over Spencer, who was rapidly bleeding out, and addressed the crowd of Alexandrians who had gathered around him.

“Look at that! He did have guts after all, they’re right there! I’ve never been so wrong in my life!”

The crowd stared, but nobody moved. They wouldn’t dare try anything, not with Arat ready to unload her pistol into anyone dumb enough to do something drastic. 

“I just did your community a favor!” Negan ignored the horrified looks some people were casting him and continued. He motioned to Carl, who was glaring at him from his porch. “Kid, that douchebag just told me he wanted to kill your dad. Now I don’t know about you, but I think that’s really shitty.”

Turning back to the crowd, he carried on, ignoring the stomach pains and slight nausea he felt. “That’s right people. Spencer the dickless there wanted to take out your fearless leader! You should all be thanking me.”

A stronger wave of nausea took him by surprise, but he played it off and continued swaggering around Alexandria, Lucille in his hand as always. He supervised as his men wandered in and out of various homes and took whatever they felt like taking in addition to picking up this week’s offering.

Under normal circumstances, Negan would be bummed that he wasn’t going to see Rick on this visit, but as time wore on, he found himself caring less and less as he gradually began to feel worse. He could somehow still taste the spaghetti, and he felt overly full and excessively bloated, which left him in a great amount of discomfort. It got to the point where he almost sighed in relief when his men decided to load up and go back to the compound.

The drive from Alexandria to the Savior's compound was usually an hour there an hour back, a little more if they had to clear walkers from the road on the way.

Negan wasn’t sure if he’d make it through the whole drive home. He was in the passenger seat of the front most truck, and he’d long since given up trying to get comfortable. No amount of position shifting seemed to ease his rapidly growing queasiness, and rolling down the passenger window to get some fresh air hadn’t helped worth a damn. He sank down into his seat and sighed as he placed his right hand on his upset, overly bloated stomach. The truck driver gave him a questioning glance but didn’t pry.

To say he felt like dogshit was a massive understatement. Every bump in the road made him feel even worse, and by the time he arrived back at the compound, he felt well and truly sick. He felt bad enough that he let his guard down and dropped the sarcastic, confident personality he usually displayed in favor of being quiet.  
He thought back to various times he’d been sick with a stomach bug or food borne illness in the past, and those instances had all started with bloating and sharp abdominal pains. 

He felt hot and feverish in addition to feeling sick, and as he stepped out of the truck, a dizzying wave of vertigo washed over him. He groaned softly and Lucille almost slid from his grip.

He was definitely sick, no doubt about it. All he wanted was to retreat to his room and curl into a ball of misery on the bathroom floor. He knew that’s what he’d end up doing, as he was really starting to feel like he was going to puke. He wasn’t the type to fight it, he’d much rather get it all out and feel better, at least temporarily. 

Of course, Negan’s escape plan was thwarted. He had only made it several yards away from the trucks when Simon came out of nowhere and flung his arm around his shoulder.

“We’ve got a problem, and I know you’d want to hear this from me. We’ve got a snake in the nest.”

Negan looked at him, but it took him a moment to find his words. “What happened?”

“I caught said snake, Toby, trying to leave us with weeks worth of stolen food. He stole from all of us and thought he could get away with it! Unfortunately for him, I’m exceptionally good at discovering pests. We decided to heat up the furnace to teach him a lesson. Dwight’s getting the iron ready, but being the big man himself, you get to do the honors.” Simon explained. 

Before Negan could protest, his right hand man lead him into the factory. Arat followed, and everyone else trailed behind them on her command. Truthfully, ironing Toby’s face was the last thing he wanted to do right now. With every step he took, he was hit with an intense nausea peak and came closer to losing it. At this point it wasn’t a matter of _if_ he was going to throw up, it was when. He knew he had a 100 percent chance of seeing his lunch again, and probably soon at that because he felt like he could hurl at any second.

Simon lead him to the railing of the balcony overlooking the common room, and he felt acid creep up his throat as he looked down at the crowd of his lieutenants and workers below. They were all kneeling and bowing like usual, save for Dwight who was heating up the iron, and Toby who had been stripped to his underwear and bound to a chair. Normally Negan relished the sight of his loyal cohorts bowing to him and loved leading them in a charismatic manner, but today he just wasn’t up to it. He straight up felt too sick to give a traitor the iron.

Alas, he couldn’t not do it either. He had an image to maintain, and he needed to keep everyone in line. Rules were important, and people needed to be reminded what happened if they defied them. Toby had to be punished, but Negan wasn’t going to bother with taunting. He’d wordlessly give this guy the iron, then lock himself in his ensuite bathroom and spend the rest of the day puking his guts out.

He sluggishly descended the stairs, and he could feel everything in his stomach unpleasantly sloshing around with each step. He stopped in front of Toby, but another wave of vertigo hit him and he had to shut his eyes and brace himself with Lucille to avoid falling over.

Toby was panicking, as victims of the iron always did. He looked up at Negan, pleading. “I-I’m so sorry sir! I’m stupid, I’m an idiot, I’m a fuck up, just please don’t do this! I’ll never break a rule again! I swear! Please!”

Simon grinned manically and leaned over the bound man. “Toby, Toby, Toby. It sure is a shame it had to come to this, because before your fuck up today, you did a good job here. I liked you. But, you must be a lot dumber than you look if you thought you could get away with that. The thing is, we don’t take too kindly to thieves around here.” he spoke in an upbeat manner, but the aura of threat was there clear as day.

Dwight removed the glowing, red hot iron from the furnace with a long metal pole and extended it to Negan. Toby, who was near tears from the anticipation of that nearly molten metal being pressed to his face, was practically howling with fear.

Negan didn’t take the iron. He was overwhelmed with nausea, and he could taste the acid that was threatening to shoot up his throat. Lucille was limp in his grip, his mouth flooded with saliva and he moaned as he a felt a hot, burning sensation rapidly start spreading through his gut. That could only mean one thing. He was going to puke, right here, right now, and there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it.

His followers had suspected something was off upon noticing how quiet he had become, but by now nearly everyone had realized that something was amiss. They had never seen him act this way before. Arat cocked her head and gave him a questioning look, and many others followed suit.

Simon turned away from Toby and rose a brow at Negan. “What’s going on with you? Is there something I should know about?”

“I..I...oh fu-” Negan was cut off mid sentence by a retch. He felt his stomach contract and before he could even move, a torrent of vomit gushed from his mouth, missing Simon by an inch and hitting Toby square in the chest.

“Holy fuck! What the hell Negan?!” Simon leapt back to avoid getting nailed. Several other people flinched back as well, and even Arat looked shocked.

Toby audibly cried out in revulsion as the chunky brown substance slid down his torso. “Oh god! He just puked on me!”

Negan clamped a hand over his mouth and turned away from the man, but it was no use. Puke spurted from between his fingers and dripped down onto his nice leather jacket before he gagged again and completely lost control. Lucille clattered to the ground as he puked all over the floor, splashing the feet of one of his guards as he did so.

Dizziness swept over him and caused him to lose his balance. He dropped to his knees and moaned as he clutched his stomach with both hands. A second later he erupted with more chunks, making the pool in front of him bigger. Another copious wave comprised of spaghetti, rolls, lemonade and everything else he’d eaten came up, and before he could even recover from that he vomited again. He shuddered as he felt the chunks in it slide over his tongue, and he recognized the half digested spaghetti shards and roll pieces from earlier.

Everyone was staring at him in shocked silence, unsure of what to do, but no one wanted to go near him for fear of getting puked on. 

Negan’s eyes were starting to water from the force of his retching, which he found humiliating. He wasn’t embarrassed about throwing up in front of everyone, because he couldn’t help it. However, the idea of involuntarily crying in front of them was very off putting.  
He was given a second to catch his breath before his stomach lurched and he continued to puke profusely on the concrete floor. Just when he thought he had nothing left inside him to bring up, he’d be proven wrong seconds later.

A flash of light suddenly brightened the room, and he realized that someone had just taken a picture of him. He didn’t have time to be angry about it though, as an agonizing jab of pain tore through his abdomen. He retched noisily as a small amount of putrid tasting liquid flowed from his mouth, and it was immediately followed by a mouthful of something that tasted even worse.

This was pure agony, Negan wouldn’t wish it upon his worst enemy. Sure, he’d eaten a lot, but this was ridiculous. Was he actually going to puke himself to death as everyone looked on in horror? Were his actual guts going to come up next? He briefly wondered which of his organs he’d see first.

Fortunately he never got the answer to that question. When nothing else came up after thirty seconds, he figured he was finally done. There was a lingering string dripping from his mouth, so he spat it into the lake of puke in front of him. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he exclaimed. It was all he could think to say.

When he looked up, the first thing he saw was Eugene looking at him. The portly scientist was holding a camera and gazing at him with his usual stony faced expression.

“I apologize for the photography,” he began. “However, I must admit that I am thoroughly, utterly, downright impressed by what you just did. Never in my entire life have I witnessed someone throw up like that. Hell, I didn’t even know it was humanly possible for so much vomit to come out of one person. Thus, I felt it was necessary to document it in the name of science.”

Negan truthfully didn’t know what to say to that. For once, he was at a loss for words. Then again, he did see Eugene’s logic. If he didn’t feel absolutely godawful, he’d be impressed with himself too. He scanned over the damage he did and realized Eugene was right. He had produced an insane amount of puke. Not only did he basically destroy the floor and Toby, it was all over himself too. It was on his jacket, his right hand, his pants and his boots. He made a half assed attempt to wipe the vile brown substance off his clothes, but all he did was make it worse.

As he knelt there, the situation was quickly becoming awkward because everyone was still silently staring at him. He felt someone grip his arm and help him up, and he wasn’t surprised that it was Simon. Of course it was. Negan could always count on him.

Arat stepped up next. “What the fuck are you all staring at? Back to work!” she commanded firmly. At her order, people began to disperse.

She stalked over to Toby, untied him, then pushed him down and threw a mop at him. “Clean this shit up.” she motioned to the huge mess Negan made. “If I’m not satisfied, you’re losing all your points.”

Despite feeling outright terrible, Negan smiled at that. He could always count on Arat and Simon to take charge and get stuff done. Not only that, but people listened to them.

Negan was rather unsteady on his feet, but he insisted that he didn’t need any assistance. He wasn’t an elderly woman who needed help crossing the street, he was a grown ass man. He could take care of himself. Still, Simon followed him anyway to make sure he didn’t pass out, which Negan was secretly grateful for. He’d never admit it though.

Once they arrived at the door to Negan’s bedroom, Simon addressed him. 

“So, I’ve got to ask,” he began. “Should I head down to Alexandria and pick up that priest? The one with the creepy smile? Father Gabriel, right? I think an exorcism might be in order, because that was seriously some demonic possession style level shit back there!”

“Simon, I feel like shit that took a shit, ate said shit, and puked that shit right back up. That’s what I feel like right now.” Negan ranted. “But if I suddenly start speaking ancient Latin or bringing Rick supplies instead of taking them, then by all means, summon the preacher.” 

His mind flashed to Rick, and he wondered what the man would think of him now, pitifully sick and covered in his own vomit. Rick would probably get off on it, or at least laugh hysterically. Maybe he’d even swipe Lucille and use her to put Negan out of his misery. 

He sent Simon to find him some anti nausea medicine, or at least some Pepto Bismol, then slunk into his room. A hot shower was in order. When he wasn’t feeling well a long hot shower usually made him feel better, even if the relief was only temporary. He rinsed his mouth out to get rid of the acrid puke taste, then strode over to the shower and cranked on the hot water.

A scalding hot shower followed by a nap sounded like heaven. Hopefully he’d feel a little better afterwards, or at least well enough to drink some water. He didn’t want to get dehydrated.  
He looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and was taken aback at how pale he was. He almost looked dead. Maybe he should have Simon fetch Father Gabriel after all. 

He chuckled weakly at the thought of himself tied to a bed as Gabriel stood over him, thrusting a crucifix in his face and shouting “DEMON! Exit this man’s body! The power of Christ compels you! THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU!” It _would_ be pretty badass.

The water coming from the shower was so hot that steam was rising from the shower head, but that’s exactly what Negan wanted at the moment. He stripped off his soiled clothes and stepped in. Once the water hit him, he relaxed and felt a tiny bit better. He’d be fine in no time.


	2. chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter a bit fluffier than the first one. Negan still pukes a lot but there's more of a care taking element in this chapter. I have never, ever seen a fic that features a sick Negan being taken care of by his fellow Saviors, and I felt one needed to exist. Bad guys caring for their fellow bad guys is a trope that needs more love!

The shower had helped for all of twenty minutes. The relief he’d felt gradually faded away once he’d shut the water off, stepped out and changed into clean clothes. The nausea slowly came crawling back, wrecking havoc on his insides once more. It wasn’t long before he felt genuinely nauseous again.

At the moment, Negan was sitting on one of the small couches in his room with his head in his hands and a plastic bucket between his feet. As sick as he felt, he was stuck in that awful limbo where he wasn’t sure if he was going to throw up or not. He considered using the old finger down the throat trick but wasn’t sure if it would help much. Chances are he was going to feel absolutely terrible until whatever was causing this was filtered out of his system.

There was a knock at the door, and before Negan gave permission, it swung open to reveal Simon and Eugene.

“Hey buddy! How are you feeling?” Simon beamed at him. 

Negan only groaned in response. A pink object was thrust in front of him. It was a bottle of Pepto Bismol.

“Here you go. Pepto Bismol, just as requested. I even got you a wine glass so you can drink it in style.” Simon added.

Eugene, who was holding a container in his hands, stepped towards Negan. 

“It is my understanding that you likely cannot retain food and will not be able to for roughly twelve to twenty four hours. However it is imperative that you stay nourished, so I have taken it upon myself you offer you some leftovers. Sardine macaroni, made by yours truly.”

The scientist removed the lid and held the steaming bowl out to Negan.

The yellowish grey macaroni was loaded up with shriveled, oily sardines and the occasional fish eye or fin sliver here and there. Negan stared at it with repugnance for a second before the overwhelming fish smell coming from it flipped the switch on his nausea and triggered another vomiting episode.

Negan gagged and bent forward as he threw up all over the floor between his feet, somehow missing the bucket completely. Acting quickly, he picked it up and held it in his lap, getting it in place right in time to send another wave of puke splashing into it. He just barely got it all inside.

“Damn. How do you have anything left inside you?” Simon commented as he looked on with amusement. The expression on his face implied he was enjoying the show, perhaps in a very inappropriate way.

Eugene gave him a strange look as he realized that the lieutenant seemed overly interested in watching the lead savior puke his guts out. He couldn’t decipher why someone would get exited about that, but then again he had many odd quirks of his own.

Negan was too busy throwing up to notice that, so he responded by raising his middle finger at Simon. It was all he could do at the moment. His whole body lurched as an agonizing retch tore through him and more brown liquid poured from his mouth. By this point it was all liquid, except for a few solids that had been lurking in the very bottom of his stomach. It tasted truly awful and burned his throat as it came up. He heaved twice more before he was done. He had filled the bucket about a third of the way, and set it on the floor when he was sure no more was coming.

He flopped back and let himself sink into the couch. There was no word in existence intense enough to accurately describe how bad he felt. He didn’t know how it was possible, but he somehow felt even worse than he had before. The nausea wasn’t subsiding, his throat felt like it was on fire, his head was pounding, his eyes were watering and he still felt dizzy as well. He shut his eyes and remained silent for a minute before finally speaking.

“Eugene,” he began, gesturing at the offending bowl of sardine macaroni, “Get that shit away from me, or else I will projectile vomit all over you and you’ll be washing my lunch out of that fine mullet of yours.”

Eugene, not wanting to risk damage to his hair, promptly closed the lid on the bowl. “Fair enough. Sardines are a very particular brand of acquired taste. But if you ever change your mind, the offer is still on the table.”

“I think my face says it all when I say I’m a bit confused. Tell me, what would possess a sane man to think that sardines belong in mac and cheese? Why would you do that?” Simon asked him in a bewildered fashion.

“Because I like sardines.” Eugene explained. “Wether you find them palatable morsels of mercury infused goodness or downright appalling is irrelevant. Because at the end of the day, I did not make this for you.”

“Hey! One of you two assholes want to get me some water? Or are you just going to let me die?” Negan piped up from his position on the couch.

As if by magic, the door opened up again, this time signaling Arat’s arrival. She was holding a couple bottles of spring water. She looked from Negan to the partway full bucket to the puke on the floor and cringed a bit.

“You look like shit,” she said bluntly. “You’re not going to die on us, are you?”

“I might, Arat. I might. I am _completely_ fucking out of commission. You’re in charge until I get better. These two,” he gestured to Eugene and Simon, “are going to take care of me.” Negan explained. He was laying on his back now, with half closed eyes. 

Arat blinked in surprise. “Really?”

Negan nodded. “Go ahead. Pick up Lucille. Just remember to treat her like she’s your best friend in the whole world, and everything will be great. She’s a fickle mistress. She won’t tell you if she gets thirsty, so that’s up to you to figure out.”

The woman walked over to where Lucille was propped up against the wall. She picked the bat up, gave it a few test swings and smiled. 

“Nice. I can see why you love her so much. Don’t worry, I’ll treat her like the magnificent lady she is.” Arat complimented. Though what she didn’t say was that she planned on referring to ‘her’ as ‘him’ or ‘Adrian’ as long as the bat was in her hands. She swung Adrian over her shoulder and gave Negan a bottle of water. “Here. Get better, and don’t die. This place needs you.”

With that, she turned and sauntered from the room.

The cool water felt amazing running down Negan’s irritated throat. He could feel the cold travel down his throat and spread through his stomach. Unfortunately, the euphoria was quickly replaced by nausea as his body swiftly began to reject the liquid.

“Oh god fucking damnit.” He bolted upright, swiped the bucket from the floor, and promptly threw up all the water he just drank.

Eugene awkwardly stared at Simon, who was starting to fidget as he watched Negan puke up all the water. It dawned on him that the other man was not repulsed, but aroused, which puzzled him greatly. He chose not to comment on it for the time being, but decided to amuse himself with a little experiment. He took the bucket away from Negan, who collapsed back onto the couch.

“Caring for others is not exactly my forte. I’ve always stayed in my own lane, and looked out only for me, myself and I. You could say that I’m selfish and be correct in that assumption. However, you have provided me with safety, shelter and all the ingredients I need to make my infamous sardine macaroni. Thus, after I dispose of the rather revolting contents of this pail I am going to scrounge around for some books. Medical books, to be precise. After reading up on the subject, I will do my best to lead you to a speedy recovery.”

Negan felt far too bad to even consider protesting as the scientist left the room, leaving him alone with Simon, who was doing his best to hide the very obvious hard on he had. He’d never hear the end of it if anyone found out that he got off on watching Negan vomit. He deliberately thought about unpleasant things, such as Fat Joey doing jumping jacks naked, to ward off the arousal. It worked.

Like Eugene, Simon wasn’t exactly the world’s best care taker. But, Negan was both his boss and his best friend, so he was going to try even though caring for people, or even just being nice, wasn’t in his nature. He practically had to drag Negan off the couch and onto the bed, as the other man wasn’t putting in any effort what so ever.

“You are way heavier than you look.” he panted as he dropped Negan onto the bed.

Even though he felt worse than he’d ever felt in his life, Negan managed a small snicker. “I wanted to see if you’d actually pick me up and carry me.”

For the next half hour or so, he remained sprawled out over the bed as Simon stayed with him and made sure he was alright. He laid motionless, completely unmoving until the urge to puke wormed its way back yet again. He didn’t even curse this time. 

Actually getting up and walking into the bathroom was going to be the difficult part. He had no energy at all, as even moving his head was a strenuous task. By the time he managed to partially sit up, it was already too late. He clasped his hand over his mouth, but it did nothing to stop the acid that was starting to rise. He retched and yellowish bile cascaded over his fingers and onto the white T shirt he was wearing. Having accepted defeat, he rolled onto his side and puked all over his bedsheets. He didn’t even try to get off the bed. Well past the point of caring, he simply laid there as waves of bile gushed from his mouth. In the midst of heaving he heard a sharp gasp come from beside the bed, then what sounded like no followed by a string of obscenities. 

Negan dry heaved a couple times, then moaned and curled up into a ball. He didn’t even care that he was covered in his own vomit for the second time today. Nor did he care who saw him or who knew. He, the big bad wolf, had essentially been reduced to a defenseless pup and he felt too shitty to give even a fraction of a crap about it. Hell, Rick could be standing over him, Lucille in hand, about to give him a taste of his own medicine and he wouldn’t care. That’s how awful he felt. The nausea was finally beginning to recede a little, but he was in a lot of pain due to the sheer amount he had thrown up over the past couple hours. He thought he may have broken some sort of world record. He felt like he had at least a dozen acid tipped knives stuck in various places around his guts and throat. Even breathing hurt.

“Am I dead yet?” he groaned hoarsely. His voice was somewhat muffled as his face was buried in one of the pillows.

“No.” Simon looked flustered but also concerned for Negan’s well being. He awkwardly shifted position.

“How about now?”

“No.”

“Simon?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you just cum in your pants?”

“.......n....yes.....”

“I knew it.”

Simon wasn’t a prudish or easily frazzled person, but he suddenly found himself unable to look at Negan and wished that a walker would sneak up on him and rip his throat out. 

“I don’t blame you,” Negan said deliriously. He was so exhausted and worn out that he was falling asleep despite the intense pain. “Because....” 

He trailed off for a second, on the verge of sleep.

“....every fucking thing I do is hot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...in case it's not obvious I ship Negan/Simon.
> 
> And I just had to work Eugene's rancid sardine macaroni in there. That stuff looked absolutely revolting.


End file.
